


Two Into One

by chaosmanor



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Challenge Response, M/M, Twincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-08-01
Updated: 2007-08-01
Packaged: 2017-11-20 23:25:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/590863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaosmanor/pseuds/chaosmanor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is an FPS fic I wrote for the Lesserelves Yahoo list challenge. It was a Person Place Thing challenge, and I was given 'Amrod, Rohan, Bilbo's cloak' as my challenge.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Two Into One

**Author's Note:**

> This is an FPS fic I wrote for the Lesserelves Yahoo list challenge. It was a Person Place Thing challenge, and I was given 'Amrod, Rohan, Bilbo's cloak' as my challenge.

The air was chilly up high in the foothills of the Misty Mountains: Bilbo shivered and wrapped his cloak more tightly around himself and shuffled a little closer to the fire.

It was his turn to stand watch. Sit watch, more accurately; and he didn’t let himself get too warm in case he fell asleep accidentally.

Gandalf was sitting across the fire from him, nodding over his pipe and muttering; Bilbo peered at him in the firelight, uncertain if Gandalf was talking to him.

“What?” Gandalf said gruffly when Bilbo held out a mug of tea. “Nonsense: of course I wasn’t asleep. What nonsense. I was just thinking.”

Bilbo offered the mug to Gandalf again, and Gandalf took it. “Perhaps I had drifted off,” he said. “You startled me, that’s all, Bilbo.”

Gandalf’s eyes were awake and twinkling at Bilbo again, so Bilbo carried his mug and pipe to sit beside the wizard, carefully avoiding stepping on a sleeping dwarf.

“What were you thinking about, Gandalf?” he asked quietly; and Fíli snuffled next to him, making Bilbo glad he had kept his voice down.

“I was thinking of long ago and far away,” Gandalf said. “Of a time before Beleriand fell; of when Elrond was a young elf.”

“Elrond was young?” Bilbo asked; and he realized how silly it sounded. Of course Elrond must have been young once. Not even dwarves sprang fully-formed from the ground.

“Indeed, he was young once; as you know, his father was Eärendil, who shines upon us even now. Elrond had a twin brother in those days, and they were as alike as Elladan and Elrohir, whom you met at Rivendell.”

Bilbo nodded. “I could not tell them apart.”

“Few people can, unless they know how to see their spirits. I was thinking too of another pair of elvish twins, who are seldom spoken of anymore: Amras and Amrod were their names. They were mighty hunters and lived wild in Estolad, though they kept a watch upon Amon Ereb. Fëanor was their father, and they were Finwë’s grandsons.”

Bilbo could hear the sorrow in Gandalf’s voice and he asked, “What became of them?”

Gandalf sucked on his pipe and said, “Legend says that they fell in the battle for the Silmaril at the mouths of the Sirion, trying to take the gem from Elwing, Elrond’s mother. Ah! The moon is directly over head; shall we wake Bombur and Dwalin for their watch?”

*

Gandalf pulled his blanket around his neck and tucked his beard in, having made sure his staff and sword were lying nearby in the event of trouble.

Not that he was expecting any; the night felt calm and peaceful around him and he settled down to sleep.

He had not intended to speak of Amras and Amrod to Bilbo, but his conversation with Elrond on the night before their departure was weighing heavily on his mind. They had spoken of the truth, not what legend said; it was something that Gandalf was particularly well suited to speak on, having met Amras and Amrod during their exile.

 

# # #

There was a bitterly cold wind blowing across the plains, making the flames of the fire gutter and tearing the smoke to shreds in the dark; and Amrod stood staring into the wind, his hair streaming behind him in dark ripples.

“Is there movement?” Amras asked; and Amrod shook his head, sending his hair tumbling across his brother’s shoulder as Amras slid an arm around his waist.

“There is no one afoot tonight,” he said quietly. “The wind is empty and chill, carrying the scent of neither man nor orc. Tonight, we can sleep safe.”

Amras’ arm was warm around his body, and Amrod turned to embrace his twin. This was what their lives had become: a cold wind on an empty plain. No one knew they were there, except the deer they hunted for food, and the elven horses they had ridden into exile. No one brought them tales of the deeds that were happening so far away, leaving them with only the certainty that their kin were dying one by one; for distance alone could not break the bonds between kin, only death.

Celegorm had fallen, as had Curufin, and Caranthir. For the twins, each death was a stab in their hearts from across the farthest stretches of the world; and they had turned and fled, running from the whispered words of scandal as much as their own impending deaths. While fleeing, the brothers had felt both Maglor and Maedhros suffer great pain; and then Maedhros’ life had ended too; and it had seemed that there was little to stop them from running to the eastern edge of the world.

Now they were alone in this empty night, with the stars achingly bright overhead; and Amrod pressed his lips against his brother’s neck, tasting the clear spring-water he had bathed in, and the warmth of his skin. “Come, lie with me,” he said; for there was no one to hear the words that they should never have spoken.

Amras took his brother’s hand and led him back to their simple hut, made from the very earth itself, dug into the side of the valley that cut through the plains. Here, the wind could not find them, for the walls of the hut were deep and thick. Here, the rain could not chill them, nor the winter snows. Here they were utterly alone.

Amrod let his brother lead him, and Amras laid him on the pile of furs that was their bed, and Amras lay beside him, and they kissed.

Amras’ mouth was warm and urgent, and Amrod sought it gladly. He longed for this, ached every day for the relief that the dark night and his brother’s touch would bring. Amras set his heart ablaze with passion, then provided the soothing touches that slaked the fire. Without this nightly ritual of give and take, Amrod was nothing. He had chosen exile rather than live with the fear of discovery, and would choose death before he surrendered his brother.

That Amras felt the same filled his being with joy; that he alone could provide the sustenance that fed Amras’ life was solace enough for their isolation.

Amras’ hands were pulling at the laces of his deerskin leggings, and he reached for Amras’, eager to free the ecstasy that he knew would be waiting there for him.

Amras’ cock sprang free as the laces slipped open, and to Amrod it was the most beautiful sight in the world. None of the glories of Valinor, nor even the Silmarils themselves, compared with the magnificent beauty of his brother’s body.

Amras moved, turning on the furs so they were lying head to groin; and Amrod moaned at the first feel of Amras’ mouth on his flesh, then moaned again at his first taste of Amras’ skin.

They would pleasure each other this way until they found their completion; unless this was one of the nights when Amras would lift his mouth from his brother’s body, and speak the words that would claim his brother as his conquest.

Amrod half feared and half burned for those nights, few though they were. This was utterly forbidden, this act they did so rarely, and it was the greatest pleasure there was. Each time, they would say, “This is the last time: we must never do this again”; and then the need to belong to his brother completely would build in Amrod, as would the answering need in Amras; and their resolve would weaken and they would seek each other out again.

Amras’ mouth was slick and insistent, and Amrod felt the tightness building in his body, and he struggled to hold himself back, to make this last as long as possible, in case Amras should ask; then just as Amrod was moaning and thrusting into his brother’s mouth, just when he believed that Amras too could hold back no longer, Amras lifted his head from Amrod’s pleasure and said, “Will you give yourself to me?”

Amrod licked the pearl that shone on the head of Amras’ cock. “Freely, and with love,” he said; and Amras’ hands rolled him over so that he was face down on the furs.

He could smell the tanned hides, and the thick pelts rubbed over his aching cock as he ground his hips down into the plushness, and Amras parted the fullness of his arse.

“Oh,” Amrod breathed into the pelts. “Please,” he whispered, though there was no one to hear his need except his twin. Then Amras’ mouth was on his buttocks, biting and kissing, sliding towards the place of greatest need, until Amras’ tongue was slithering across his most secret place, making him shudder and cry out in desperation.

The yielding softness of Amras’ tongue was replaced with the hardness of his need, and he was sliding forward into Amrod, pulling Amrod’s head back by the length of his dark hair so that he could plunder his brother’s mouth at the same time as he plundered his body.

Amrod gave himself totally to his beloved brother, speaking his love in pleasure-cries that no one else would ever hear; and the wind tore away the keening of their mutual releases, tearing it to tiny fragments of sound and keeping their secret.

Afterwards, as Amrod stroked Amras’ face, glorying in the magnificent softness of his skin, Amras said, “We must never do that again.”

Amrod nodded his understanding, then pulled the furs higher around his brother’s shoulders, and pressed his face against Amras’ neck. They would sleep safe tonight in their little hut.

# # #

They saw the horse standing beside their hut from the horizon, and both urged their mounts to a full gallop. The horses raced towards the hut gladly, for they were lonely too, and this was an elven horse of their own kin.

Amrod spared a glance at Amras as their horses raced. He was lying forward on his horse’s neck, the rabbits they had caught tied to his waist by thongs, his hair streaming free behind him, unbound and long enough for him to sit on. Amrod knew that he looked the same, though he believed Amras possessed the beauty that enthralled him. He himself was plain, like an unlit candle, beside his brother.

The horse waiting by their hut called out to their horses as they approached, and Amrod and Amras sprang to the ground, hands on their knives in their sheaths, unwilling to draw a blade against a fellow elf without cause.

It was not an elf that stood up from his seat beside the door to their hut: it was a Maia; and they bowed low and took their hands off their scabbards.

# # #

 

Olórin watched the two elves as they dismounted, and smiled with satisfaction: here were Amrod and Amras; he had found them at last.

“Greetings, Amras and Amrod, sons of Feanor. I bear messages for you.”

“Lord Olórin,” Amras replied, and Amrod echoed his words.

“Lord Olórin. Welcome to our home.”

The three horses were frolicking now, and Olórin watched them disappear out onto the open grasslands; and it seemed to him that there were the ghosts of a thousand horses running wild with them, the ghosts of horses yet to come.

Olórin bowed politely again. “Come, sit with me, and we will speak.”

He watched the two elves, so alike he could only tell them apart by the fact that Amras led in so many subtle ways, as they seated themselves on the smooth grass in front of their hut. They were wearing roughly-made clothes, all of skins he supposed they had tanned themselves, and their hair hung down their backs, longer than any other elf would willingly let his hair grow without braiding it.

He smiled at them. “Varda bade me find you, for she was aware you were wandering lost in the wilds of Middle Earth; and I have searched these parts for many days, hoping to catch a glimpse of you both. It was your hut I saw, not yourselves, but by good fortune you were not away long.”

Amras said, “What news do you carry of our kin?”

Olorin nodded. “Maglor and Maedhros each took a Silmaril and fled; but the agony they endured drove them both to madness. Maedhros threw himself and his Silmaril into the fire, and they were consumed. Maglor threw his into the Sea, and he has passed from all knowledge.”

“He is not dead,” Amrod said with conviction, and Olórin inclined his head.

“If you have not felt his life end, then, like yourselves, he must be wandering the empty places of Middle-earth. I have come to ask you to return, to end your wanderings.”

“We cannot,” Amras said.

“The Doom of the Noldor has been lifted,” Olórin said kindly. “You are free to return to Valinor now, if you wish, or to take your place amongst the elves who dwell in Lindon. Gil-galad is High King now, and offers you reconciliation and a home.”

The elves exchanged glances, just a flicker, and there was an almost imperceptible nod of Amrod’s head.

“We did not flee to escape the Doom of the Noldor, nor to avoid the deaths we could see awaiting us,” Amras said. “We fled Beleriand for other reasons, and we do not believe it will be possible for us to return to live among elves.”

Olórin nodded. “You speak of your love for each other. Varda read your hearts a long ago: she knows.”

Amrod gasped and Amras reached out and twined their hands together. “Varda knew?” Amras said. “But…”

Olórin waved a hand to silence Amras. “Listen,” he said. “Both the laws of the Valar, and the laws of elves, say that brothers may not lie with each other. But you shared more than the same parents; you grew together in the same womb. Sometimes, for reasons Varda herself does not understand, for it is one of the mysteries of Ilúvatar, a single infant in a womb divides and becomes two infants who are absolutely identical to each other in every way, for they were at one stage, of the same flesh. Varda has graciously decided to offer you both absolution for seeking to return to that single flesh again. You are merely attempting to rejoin your two halves in the only way you know how.”

Olórin watched Amrod’s hand tighten its grasp on Amras’, but both twins were silent.

Olórin said, “Varda cannot intercede upon your behalf concerning your infringement of the laws of elves; all she can do is offer you the chance to come to Valinor, and the isolation there for you to be together.”

“We can return to Valinor?” Amrod asked. “But how…?”

“The Doom of the Noldor has been lifted, and Morgoth has been cast out. Beleriand itself has slipped beneath the waves of the Sea. Middle-earth is different now, and you are free to leave it.”

There was another moment of silent communication between the twins, and Amras said, “Where do we go? How shall we get to Valinor?”

“Travel back the way you came here, through the gap in the mountains some two hundred miles west of here, then bear northwest across the great empty land beyond. In the place where Nogrod used to lie, there is now a vast bay. There, at the Grey Havens, you will find Cirdan, who will have a ship for you to sail west on.”

The twins nodded and Amrod said, “Thank you, Lord Olórin. We will return to Valinor, for we have ever longed to be there, but have never dared let ourselves hope that this would come to pass.”

Olórin stood, and the twins rose to their feet, but kept their hands entwined. “This is a good land,” Amras said. “It has treated us well.”

Olórin shaded his eyes and looked across the plains to the horizon. “There will be a time when men will dwell here, men and horses; until then the land will lie fallow, waiting for them, with only the memory of two elves to fill its spaces.”

 

# # #

Gandalf rolled over, trying to arrange his shoulders around the rocks that seemed to be springing forth from the previously smooth patch of ground he had chosen to sleep upon.

Amras and Amrod had slipped unseen across Middle Earth, and he had some part in concealing them in Lindon. No one had seen them, except Cirdan, and history now remembered them as having fallen in the madness that was the sacking of the Havens of Sirion.

He had told Elrond the full story of Amras and Amrod, hoping that he would find solace from his worries about his own twins in Varda’s words of explanation. It might be that Gandalf would have to reprise his role as Olorin, advisor to lost elves, and speak to Elladan and Elrohir too; but that would be some years in the future. For now, he had thirteen dwarves and a hobbit to get to across the Misty Mountains safely.


End file.
